Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

January 20, 2012

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Surely there’s a movie out there with a child’s-eye perspective on 9/11 that’s worth seeing and shedding communal tears over. “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close,” however, is most certainly not that movie, and the fact that it’s been withheld as an automatic awards contender brands its producers as arrogant and presumptuous. Directed by Stephen Daldry (“The Reader”) and adapted by Eric Roth from the novel by Jonathan Safran Foer, this is a film of shameless manipulation and insufferable idiosyncrasies, a veritable Kleenex box stuffed with triple-ply, hipper-than-thou quirk.

Its central character is Oskar Schell (Thomas Horn), a 9-year-old New York boy who loses his father (Tom Hanks) in the World Trade Center attacks (Oskar calls Sept. 11 “the worst day”). A year later, he finds a key in his dad’s closet and swears it unlocks a crucial secret, setting him off on a citywide search that introduces him to all walks of life (read: minorities), and paints him as a wee Forrest Gump for the hipster generation (his tics and pet peeves are from the skin-crawling School of Random Thought, and for good measure, he has undiagnosed Asperger’s syndrome).

Oskar’s journey is intended to be one that unites us all, his quest for healing and closure a reflection of the quests of so many others. But it’s hard to imagine anyone identifying with this kid, despite the very few flashing moments of poignancy (in one scene, Oskar screams while trying to reconcile what became of those whose bodies were incinerated). For his part, Horn gives a very accomplished child performance, tackling his given task with great conviction. But he’s still slave to the horrid writing and Daldry’s sugarplum direction, which turns the story into daintily packaged grief.

The movie’s small breath of air is Max von Sydow, who plays a mysterious neighbor that only communicates via scribbled notes and “Yes” and “No” palm tattoos. If only the character were available to each moviegoer before the screening: Is this that 9/11 flick with the cute kid? Yes. Does it deserve an ounce of my money or time? No.